by Lori, Rae
“I think Rich is the best candidate for that explanation, Uncle. After all, he seems to think one of us in this room is a murderer.”
Rich scoffed. “A woman from the House of Blood died yesterday. She alluded to paying Jace here a little visit and when she returned that night, she was uttering Jace’s name.” He turned to Ariya. “And a strange woman in his apartment.”
Ariya’s body tightened as all eyes fell on her again.
“It wasn’t her,” Jace said strongly. “I assure you.”
“How can you be so sure, Jace?” Michael Hammond’s deep voice broke into the room.
“Yes, were you with her all night?” Daoine Oberon’s smooth voice followed close behind. His human form still emanated a glow of light and to Ariya he was still as breathtaking as his dove form.
“I was,” Jace said with a nod.
Julian stepped toward him. He studied the younger man who never backed down. “I believe you, nephew.” He turned to Ariya. “But we still don’t know anything of her.”
“Uncle Julian.”
Julian held up his hand, silencing Jace. He walked to Ariya. “You understand I must do this for our own protection, my dear.”
Before she could question what he meant, her mind tingled with the feel of a thousand tiny fingers on her brain. Ariya gasped sharply. Her body froze under his hold. Slowly, Julian lifted his hand to caress her face.
“Uncle Julian!” Jace said sharply.
“Shh—”
Julian entered her mind, slowly breaking through the walls she so carefully built up in defense. Memories fell from her like a broken dam that long held a beautiful existence that came to a painful end.
Even now she felt it in the air. The harsh sharp intake of breath that threatened to fill her lungs with its darkness. Its large body wrapped itself around her, choking the life from her. Heat rose within her skin, sweat formed on her forehead. She struggled to breathe.
Ariya broke from Julian’s grasp, ripping the jacket from her body as she grasped for air. Her large translucent wings sprouted from her back, stretching out proudly illuminating the room as she fell to her knees inhaling and exhaling sharply.
Jace raced to her side. “Are you all right? What did you do to her?”
Ariya coughed violently and felt Jace’s arms slip around her. Part of her was surprised by the gesture, but welcomed it all the same.
“Uncle Julian—”
Julian shook his head. “She means no harm.”
“Uncle, what—?” Jace shook his head. “A little warning would have been appreciated. You didn’t have to probe her so violently. Tha eagal oirre.”
She is afraid. The translation echoed in her mind amidst the chaos as she heard Jace’s soothing voice.
Julian’s brow furrowed as he looked down at them. “Watch your tone, boy. How soon you forget to whom you speak. She did not murder the young woman.”
“I could have told you that,” Jace said as he examined Ariya, pushing aside her thick curly locks look at her face.
She forced herself to breathe slowly and speak her next words carefully. “You don’t understand. He knows exactly where I am now. He knows where to find me.”
She looked up at Jace by her side. For the first time she saw a look of fear on his handsome face reflecting her own expression of concern for what was going to happen. “It’s coming.”
Chapter 5
The limo ride back to Jace’s complex was silent as Ariya stared out the window. She could feel Jace’s unassuming stares now and then but it would drift away whenever the images slipped into her mind. She would forget about the beast stalking her until she replayed that moment over and over when Julian slipped into her mind. Something had opened then. Not only just a release of her powers that would surely attract the elemental stalking her, but something else. She tried to pinpoint it as she climbed out of the car and followed Jace to his apartment. He would give her a curious gaze here and there as if trying to figure out why she fell into the background of her mind.
She shook it off even as she returned to his bedroom and quickly closed the door before taking a seat on the side of his bed. She idly slipped out of her shoes and pulled herself backward so that her bare feet dangled off the side. She stared up ahead at the high, white ceiling feeling as if the past was coming back to haunt her. It wasn’t quite a thought and not quite a memory, at least not one belonging to her.
In the connection with Julian, his past came to her in waves, like a movie that harkened back to an ancient world long forgotten in their contemporary times—
* * * *
East of the Highlands, Scotland - 1441
Green meadows spread across the land like an untouched green blanket welcoming the blood and soils of battle. Julian Archane held his head high as he rode across the open land. Darkness fell as the sun darkened under a black cloud. Thunder roamed in the distance echoing the sounds of war cries on the opposite end. Two flags stood high on either side.
On Julian’s end was a white saltire on a blue field. On the opposite end was a centered red cross on a white background representing the English armies. Both echoed the shield that the soldiers proudly wore on their plated armor.
“Hold the line!” Julian yelled to his men.
A sea of shiny armor and helmets appeared like beetles among the earthy green lands. Flags, spears, swords and shields pierced the sky and landscape accompanied by the smoke of powder from the catapults that attacked. It was then he felt the constriction of his helmet bringing on a waterfall of sweat upon his scalp.
Julian remembered he used to play upon these lands as a child. The grasslands served as transportation to anywhere his mind was willing to travel. Now it was nature’s battleground in preparation for a burial in the green blades.
He turned and looked at his men. Their faces were blank, their eyes determined and focused a head on the enemies closing in. Julian remembered being that young once. His heart beat to the idea of swinging his sword and defending the land he ruled alongside his wife Marie.
Marie. Mo chrìdh.
In his mind, her long, dark wavy hair blew in the wind. She beckoned him with her smile alone, he would always be more than willing to take her in his arms and hold her. His pale hand would run across her dark olive skin, like silk, softer than the beautiful dresses she wore. As he stood high on his horse, exhaling and restless with the anticipation of the fight,
Julian closed his eyes. His thoughts that of Marie’s dark gaze peering down at him.
He was back home again with her standing in front of the massive stone structure that was their shelter and sanctuary from the outside world. He placed his hand on her swollen stomach that cradled his child growing within her womb. He could stay there forever ignoring the duties of his office because this was where his true duties lie. This was what he had to protect and he would do so until his last dying breath.
Feeling a surge of fire growing in his chest, the words repeated within his mind. He opened his eyes and looked at the dark sea of his enemies like locusts running in toward their prey. Not all of his men would make it out alive and they understood it. But by the house of their ancestors and the families they left back home, they would not die without a fierce fight. Not until their last dying breath.
Julian gently clicked his heels against his horse and led him along the massive line his men held. He felt their hearts beating united as one. Their stoic expressions were undeterred by the rapid thumping and taunts of their enemies. He used the only thing he knew to prepare them to go into battle.
“I can see the determination strong in yer eyes,” he said looking at his men. “I can feel the rapid heartbeats within yer hearts. ‘Twas a cry out in the darkness threatenin’ ta take our homes and our lifestyles. Tonight their cry will be met with the clash of our swords sayin’ we will no cow’r to your demands! We will fight for our land and if ye dare ta challenge our cries, then may God have mercy on yer soul because tonight the victory bells will sing f
or our people!”
The air sang with cheers as his men pumped their fists, swords and spears into the air. “For the honor of Scotland!” Julian pulled his sword from his sheath and held it high over his head.
A surge of energy invaded the thick air as the men screamed their concurrence. Their voices continued pounding the air renewing Julian’s strength as he took his place at the front of the line. They were ready for the English now.
“On my mark, release the dogs o’ war!”
Catapults were released in the air behind them. Julian held his sword up and gestured forward. The distance between them closed, the first sword was drawn, followed by a succession of others.
Swords clashed against one another. Julian fought from his horse until he felt his body pulled down with the strength of the beast falling below him. He scrambled to his feet and dodged an oncoming blade headed for his face. He blocked, jabbed and jammed the sword into his enemy’s chest.
He turned, his senses immediately assaulted with the smell of blood and dirt, thick in the air. The greenery ran dark and red with the spilled blood from the bodies of the fallen soldiers from each side. As moments passed, more and more bodies collapsed to their death; left and right and all round him.
Julian blocked the oncoming attack toward Roman, his second in command. He swung his sword toward his opponent’s neck and felt the thin blade cut through skin, muscle and bone, knocking them toward the blood soaked ground. The fire of battle burned within his chest and he quenched it with another swing into the chest of his opponent.
Roman patted his back with satisfaction. “To victory, mo brathair.”
They continued, striking any opponents in sight. Smoke and ash blocked the area and before he could react, Julian felt a sharp blade cut to his skin, clear through his chest, impaling him. The wind was knocked out of him. He fell to his knees as a shadow came overhead. The clashes, screams and sounds from the atmosphere faded into the back of his mind. Roman ran toward him, his mouth open and screaming but no sound emerged. Julian heard no sound at all except for the beating of his own heart. He fell backwards, watching as his assailant smiled with pride. Then he opened his mouth in a war cry and raised his sword to strike one last time. Behind him, Roman swung and thrust his sword forward into the soldier’s neck as his own fierce cry spread across the lands. The Englishman’s body went stiff, his dark eyes widened within the window of his helmet. His body grew limp and fell to the ground. After the opponent had fallen, Roman pushed the dead body away and raced to Julian who lay on the ground.
“M’lord Archane,” Roman held him close to his body.
Julian winced at the searing pain beating within his chest. He choked, feeling the blood rising within him. This couldn’t be the end. He wasn’t ready to go before seeing his wife’s sweet face. He needed to touch her, hold her in his arms, feel the strength of the love between them. He needed to see his child grow into a young man, to carry on his name and title. Sadly, that would be a wish never to be fulfilled.
He reached up to grab his second-in-arms by the neck and pull him close.
“M’lord?” Roman’s voice quivered as he raised his eyebrows.
“To victory, mo brathair.” Julian said, his words strained and weak.
Pursing his lips, Roman nodded, he understood. Slowly he rose to his feet and raised his sword as he left Julian’s side. The battle continued but Julian’s mind was becoming a barren wasteland. Soon the sounds of battle died around him and only dust remained. He felt the bodies surrounding him among their Earthly tombs as he danced between life and death, struggling to stay alive. Was anyone else out there? Would he be the only one left alive? He had to gather enough strength to make it home. He had to try. As his mind filled with questions and self-coaching, Julian’s body froze as he heard a sound. Shoes crunched against the soft beds of grass. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going mad in his last moments of living.
He opened his mouth to speak as a blurred shadowy image blocked his view of the darkening sky over head. Despite how many times he blinked, Julian couldn’t make out the image of the soldier, nor the words that fell from his lips.
“Archane,” was the only word Julian could make out.
Julian struggled to move as he stared up at the blur. He blinked and in a flash, the soldier dived down to him, attacking his neck.
Julian felt his strength depleted. He struggled to fight the man as a searing pain shot from his neck and throughout his body. The lifeforce fell from him as he discovered— this man was sucking his blood? Was he being bled dry?
He found his voice and screamed, thankful for the release despite the sound stifled by the soldier’s body. The figure above him arched his back and roared like a primal beast into the rapidly approaching night.
With the last of his strength, Julian lurched forward onto the figure and slammed his body back against the ground. He noted a sword jutting upward from the ground, still impaled into a fallen soldier’s chest. The soldier’s body moved slightly as Julian pulled the blade from his body.
“Wretch’d creature!” Julian swung with all his might and embedded the sword in the shadowy figure’s side, cutting off his robed arm in the process. The figure screeched like a preternatural animal as he fell over and finally gave out his last dying breath.
Julian turned to move but his knees immediately gave out below him. He felt like a dying rag doll, absent of any will or strength left. That creature had nearly drained him! He realized it as the adrenaline quickly left his body only to be replaced with fatigue. He couldn’t stay here. He had to find what was left of his men and return home.
“You must rise up against the son of the dragon,” the figure’s raspy voice was accompanied by a soft chuckle. “A revenir that will send them running for the hills. They keep our people there to die. But you will stop that, won’t you? They said you could because you were a true leader.”
“This can’t be.” Julian lifted his head up from the inviting bed of Earth below him. “I have killed ye already,” he said in a low whisper.
The figure seemed to spring up into Julian’s view without any movement of his limbs. The sword still remained embedded in his side. Julian couldn’t see the figure but he felt it smiling beneath the cloak of darkness. With his only hand, he reached over and plucked the sword from his side before tossing it into the field below. He raised his robe to display the flesh that was cut off at the elbow. Right before Julian’s very own eyes, the body regenerated and placed itself back together as bone, muscle, and tissue. Finally, skin repaired itself into a new arm the figure proudly showed off. Julian remained frozen as he watched, yet his body was paralyzed with cold fear. What sort of abomination of all creation was standing before him?
The figure inhaled deeply and laughed.
“Incorrect once again, m’lord.” He lifted his new wrist to his mouth and bit hard down into the veins of his arm.
Julian smelled the blood. Blood that rushed toward the surface of his skin, like a dam releasing a river long held against its will. The figure knelt down to him and overturned his wrist allowing the blood to fall in drips to Julian’s open mouth.
“Nay!” Julian cried. “I won’t drink! I will kill ye again and again before ye make me an inhuman beast like yerself! I care not how many times you resurrect yerself. Death awaits you by my blade!”
“No, m’lord,” the creature said smoothly. “I cannot die. And you will feel such a gift yourself—if you drink.”
Julian struggled against the cold, pale wrist hovering over him. No matter which way he turned, it was there. Finally, with no more fight left in his body, he stopped and it was then he knew that tiny moment would change his life forever. For he felt the sweet essence that dropped upon his dried lips. His vigor was leaving him while regenerating him at the same time. He needed to taste more of this sweetness. He had to have it.
“More,” he said in a strained voice, making his need clear. “Please.”
The figure leaned
in and gently raised Julian’s head to his open wrist. Julian gripped it and drank the sweetest nectar to ever pass his lips. He drank and drank, hearing the union of their two heartbeats pounding in their respective chests. The blood raced through him with a rise of pleasure, overtaking his body. He wanted more and yet the sweet satisfaction of release was all too tempting. The figure caressed his dark locks as he fed. Then as moments passed, he ripped his arm away, leaving Julian in a height of desire. His body tingled with the passion, the scent of blood still emitting from the figures body. He still couldn’t see him as but a shadowy blur. Still his form was all too clear as an outline.
“What— What did ye do to me?” Julian screamed. “You’ve made me into a monster! I’m drinking blood!”
He swiped his finger across his lips and teeth, saw the dark red traces on his finger. He should have felt sick. Repulsed even. But deep down he was changing, the life and body he had always known now felt like it was slipping away.
“I gave you a chance at life,” the figure said. “You shall do with it as you will, but do not show yourself to your family or you will be hunted down and killed like a rabid animal.”
The figure turned and leaned down to reach for a piece of cloth to place over his wounded wrist. Julian grabbed the opportunity to reach for his sword as he continued talking.
“Besides, I won’t be the only one to suffer now.”
Julian swung as the figure faced him. The blur was nebulous. Yet he could still see the head separate from its body as it flew in the air, twirling toward t he ground.
Julian forced himself to breath as a charge of energy ran toward him. He fell to his knees realizing that he was alone in the midst of the battleground surrounding him. This could be his end, but his mind raced with only that of his family’s well being. He wondered if he had received a second life. Despite losing all of his men to this battle, he lived to tell of how gallantly they fought to defend their lands from the English invaders.
